I arise before the birds and prepare breakfast from leftover rice and corn. It is dark when my steps begin on the Abol trail, starting at an elevation of 1300 feet. For once it is my footsteps waking up the birds. With me is my scrip pack containing food, water, compas, guidebook, thermometer, first aid kit, wool hat, poncho, tp, pen, journal and my Bible. A light load indeed!

The way ascends moderately steep for the first mile but then becomes extremely steep and rocky during the next two miles causing my pace to slow considerably. While my ascent continues, I make several stops to turn and look behind to see the numerous lakes below which have the appearance as if a mirror had been shattered and then scattered all about. At the beginning of the second mile, a strong wind blows throught the area and a heavy rain begins. Donning my poncho, this climb continues upward on a rain soaked way and soon I enter a dense fog.

Stopping for a rest, I remove my scrip and sit beneath an overhanging crag. Lingering behind, solitude arrives from below, interrupts my repose to focus my attention on the possibility that today is not a good day to climb Katahdin. I say a prayer asking for help to decide if it is wise for me to continue in this inclement weather, when immediately, a charm of finches darts out from somewhere behind the crag, crosses directly in front of myself and quickly out of sight again. As I listen I hear the birdsong all about me and think to myself, if the birds are enjoying this day, I should do likewise and then choose to continue to the summit.

Higher and higher through the dense fog and with the visibility now less than twenty feet, I am only able to continue by following the blue blazes painted upon the rocks marking the way. Later, the rain stops, and my climb wends through an area of massive boulders, still in the thick fog. The sight of these monoliths enshrouded by the fog cast eerie shadows all over as my struggle to reach the towering heights of Katahdin continues.

Upwards I feel my existence ascending, as if racing the wind towards this pinnacle.

I ask myself, What lies upon this mountain for me?

Then methinks, What does the future hold for myself?